


Born to Run

by ThatOneWriter15



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Comfort, F/M, Fluff, POV Third Person, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-10-28 13:35:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17788373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatOneWriter15/pseuds/ThatOneWriter15
Summary: Imagine singing along to classic rock while riding with Dean Winchester.





	Born to Run

**Author's Note:**

> If you're not familiar with Bruce Springsteen's "Born to Run," you may want to give it a listen before reading.  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TCBB7yLNSgo
> 
> But if you'd rather just dive in, that'll work. I've got you covered.

“Any luck?” Dean questions into his phone as they’re walking back to Baby.

She frees her hair from the tight bun she always subjects herself to wearing while playing the role of FBI Agent and waits for the (hopefully) good news.

Heels clacking on the asphalt, she travels around the black-chrome beauty to the passenger’s seat. She and Dean climb in and close the doors with a slam.

“Ha-Hang on, Cass. Lemme put you on Speaker,” Dean instructs once they’re in the security of the car.

“Hi, Cass,” she greets, alerting him that she’s listening.

“Hello,” Cass returns. There are a few beeps and some rustling. Dean rolls his eyes gently, and she cracks a smile.

“Hey, guys,” Sam chimes in once the angel finds the _Speaker Phone_ option. “So, the daughter is still pretty shaken up, but she swears she heard snarling coming from her mom’s bedroom on the night of the attack.”

“Was the mother’s heart still present?” Castiel wonders.

“Yeah, it was,” Dean answers. “But the rest of her…” He lets out a low whistle. “She was barely in one piece.”

“Hellhound,” she considers out loud.

“A good guess,” Cass agrees. “How far away are you?”

“Just leaving the morgue now,” Dean informs.

“So, you should be back in, what, 30?” Sam ventures.

“ _Dean’s_ driving,” she reminds Sam. “Make it 20.”

Sam chuckles before Cass hangs up.

Dean feigns a hurt look.

“Oh, come on,” she calls him on it.  


He shrugs, slightly amused and taking his lumps.

She secures her seat belt as Baby’s engine purrs to life. The radio is still on the same classic rock station they were listening to on their way over. Currently, it’s about a minute into Bruce Springsteen’s “Born to Run.”

“Eh,” Dean mutters in slight disapproval.

“Don’t you dare change it,” she objects.

“There’s gotta be somethin’ better playin’,” he counters.

“No way.” She pushes his hand from the _Seek_ button and rolls the volume dial between her fingers, sending the sounds of The Boss swimming through Baby.

“Fine,” he allows. “But the next time ‘Black Water’ comes on, you’re gonna suffer through it.”

She groans. “Deal.”

Bruce ends the chorus: “‘Cause tramps like us--baby, we were born to ru-u-u-u-n.”

She sits up straight in preparation to rock the next verse as Dean pulls out of the parking spot.

“Wendy, let me in. I wanna be your friend. I wanna guard your dreams and visions. Just wrap your legs ‘round these velvet rims and strap your hands ‘cross my engines…!”

He smiles to himself, seeing her completely immersed in the music, squeezing her eyes shut to muster the power of the words.

She serenades the dashboard as she continues: “Together, we could break this trap. We’ll run till we drop. Baby, we’ll never go ba-a-a-ck.” Sucking in a quick breath, she expels the “H-oh!” standing between her and upcoming lyrics.

“Will you walk with me out on the wire?”

Dean’s singing pulls her up short. _He knows the words_.

She listens greedily as his deep voice grounds out the rest of the verse: “‘Cause, baby, I’m just a scared and lonely rider. But I gotta know how it feels. I wanna know if love is wild. Babe, I wanna know if love is re-e-e-al.”

Her mouth goes dry as the instrumental kicks in.

“Don’t…” he warns, snapping her out of a trance.

“You love it,” she teases, nudging his bicep with her elbow. He lightheartedly pulls away.

In perfect unison, both of them imitate The Boss’s grunting without missing a beat, and they immediately begin howling with laughter. Another brief instrumental swells.

“Keep up,” she challenges him.

Together, they flawlessly deliver the next batch of lyrics: “Beyond the palace hemi-powered drones scream down the boulevard. The girls comb their hair in rearview mirrors, and the boys try to look so hard.” She’s watching his mouth, waiting for him to slip up, but he never does. “The amusement park rises bold and stark. Kids are huddled on the beach in a mist.” By this point he is _into_ it. She’s visibly elated, and he gives it all he’s got to see her light up like that. “I wanna die with you, Wendy, on the street tonight in an everlasting kiss.” He even pounds the steering wheel with the final “Huh!”

“ _Yes_ ,” she announces her approval. She mimics playing a saxophone along with the music.

He chuckles in a wow-I-can’t-believe-I’m-friends-with-this-weirdo kind of way. But he finds he’s unable to resist joining her. He plays a gentle drumroll on the dashboard at a (perfectly-timed) red light, ushering in the oncoming lyrics.

She raises her left hand above her head as high as Baby’s roof permits. She counts the “One, two, three, four!” on her fingers. He extends an open palm to her, giving her the floor. She performs for him: “The highway’s jammed with broken heroes on a last-chance power drive. Everybody’s out on the run tonight, but there’s no place left to hide.”

He lets the words’ meaning wash over him, the grin slowly slipping from his face. She notices the shift in the air and suddenly doesn’t feel like continuing the song.

As if he were reading her mind, he takes over, not letting it go unfinished. But he’s not singing. He’s practically chanting the lyrics like a mantra, trying to convince her just as much as himself. “Together, Wendy, we can live with the sadness.” In a second’s time, he debates whether to say the next line, but decides skipping it would be more telling than reciting it. “I’ll love you with all of the madness in my soul.” He omits the vocalizing this time, for it’s too cheery, and he needs the extra time to swallow the lump forming in his throat. “Someday, girl--I don’t know when--we’re gonna get to that place where we really want to go, and we’ll walk in the sun…”

Bruce carries on alone, insisting people like them are born to run.

She glances over at Dean at the same time he turns to her. His stare is hard, empty. Her heart sinks, and before she can recover, he returns his focus to the narrow road. One hand steers the car while the other rests in his lap, all of his energy abruptly sucked dry. Her eyes linger on him for a moment before she, too, gazes out the windshield.

Her arm--as if by instinct--reaches over to him. She lifts his hand from his thigh and places it in hers, pulling their shared grasp onto the seat between them. He briefly closes his eyes and takes in a breath, willing himself to soak in every sensation her sweet touch ignites in him.

The song’s outro plays as they--a couple of wayward souls--wander down the open road.


End file.
